Suckerpunch
by SparksFlyOut
Summary: ... in which Alaric is well on his way down, even though he cannot quite understand why.


**A/N:** A random, short silliness, written sometime during the second season of TVD. I don't like it much (and it can hardly be blamed for originality), but it's _ready, _which cannot be said about most of my fics.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything (although nothing would make me happier), except Olivia, who is a pure figment of my imagination.

**Warnings:** Slight slashiness and some language; I can't think of anything else worth mentioning.

* * *

Alaric feels a massive headache slowly building up underneath his temples, and he thinks, slightly amused, that alcohol is not likely to do it any good. Despite that, he gives the bartender a sign and orders, after a moment of hesitation, a scotch on soda - it is, after all, a workday tomorrow, and he can't really get wasted, no matter how much he wants to.

He finds a relatively quiet place in the corner - not that the Grill would be exactly packed on a tuesday evening, anyway - and starts leisurely leafing through a newspaper, only half interested in the headlines. In reality he's continuously observing his surroundings; people coming and going through the doors, the level of drunkenness so clearly visible on their demeanor, who's cheating on who, all that and more.

Alaric can't believe he has stayed in this town for this long. When he first came here, he never even briefly thought about staying -he was supposed to find out what happened to Isobel and get on with his life, but it didn't turn out to be that simple at all. Mystic Falls was meant to be just a transitory waypoint on his way to somewhere else, but now he has discovered that he actually likes it here. He likes his pupils and teaching and being part of something bigger, and, admittedly, he also likes kicking some vampire ass in the process. Moreover, Mystic Falls feels more like something called 'home' than the lonely house he used to live in ever did, empty and quiet after Isobel left.

Alaric's so immersed in his thoughts that he doesn't notice someone approaching, not until he hears a 'clank' of a glass put on his table - some lucid, girly drink, half of it ice with a straw sticking out. He draws his eyes upwards to meet the owner of the drink in question, and is only slightly surprised to see a familiar face with a wide smile planted on it.

Olivia Bates is grinning down at him. "Now, what is this I see? It isn't our honourable history teacher getting drunk on a tuesday night?"

She giggles bubblily and wipes aside a few long, blond tresses that have managed to escape from her tight topknot. "Can I sit down?"

Alaric looks closely at one of his students. She's drunk, that much is clear, and the number of drinks she's had that night can be counted by her pretty face. Her eyes glisten and bubble like a glassful of sparkling wine, and her cheeks are bright pink under the make-up. Alaric muses that the wisest thing would probably be to tell her to be on her way, but then, it seems that trying to be wise has done him only so much good lately. He doesn't know if it has something to do with the hopeful look on Olivia's face or the way her lipgloss glitters in the dim, but instead of saying what he is supposed to, he pushes the chair opposite of him with his foot so it sticks out from under the table. "Knock yourself out."

Olivia's face is shining in a way that could enlighten the whole Grill. "Thanks. My shoes are killing me."

As she sits down, he takes a look at the four inch heels. "I don't doubt that."

Her legs seem to go on forever, but Alaric decides not to be distreacted by that particular observation and draws his eyes back to her face. Olivia looks as if she knew exactly what's going on in Alaric's head. He clears his throat.

"So, miss Bates... don't you have classes to go to tomorrow?"

She sips her drink and flashes a mischievous smile. "Don't _you_?"

Alaric smiles back at her and shrugs. "Naturally. And I'll be there, teaching, without a hangover." He sips from his glass as well. "Just like a good teacher should."

Olivia glances at his glass of scotch and raises her beautifully shaped eyebrows. "So are you telling me that you aren't here to get wasted?"

Alaric grins. "Not in the least. Just killing time, really."

Olivia pouts her lips. "Pity. I would've liked to see what you're like when you're drunk... _Alaric_."

She says the name slowly, as if wanting to explore what it feels like coming from her lips, what it tastes like. Alaric swallows; hearing Olivia saying his first name shouldn't make him feel like this. The girl's clearly flirting with him, and during one transitory moment Alaric thinks about flirting back - and about things that might follow it - but then the moment is gone, and he decides to wave it goodbye; a bit reluctantly, as it might be, but still does. The situation would perhaps be different if he was drunk, but luckily he isn't. That would turn out to be a disaster.

"I'm going to let that one slip, but stick to Mr. Saltzman from now on, okay?"

The tone of his voice is playful when he says that, but nonetheless he truly means it. He doesn't particularly want to deal with emotions that roused in the wake of Olivia's words. In Alaric's mind the problem is solved easily enough, but Olivia isn't going to let go that easily.

She leans a bit forward and looks straight at him with big, laughing eyes. "I'm sorry, A - - I mean Mr. Saltzman. I'm just not used to seeing you like this, you know, not working. But it's totally understandable that you want to maintain your... authority outside the duty as well."

The tone of her voice leaves very little to the imagination, and Alaric wonders to himself if telling her to call him Mr. Saltzman was such a good idea after all.

Olivia smiles light-headedly. "It's fine, really, Mr. S. I've never had any problems with authority figures."

Alaric cannot help but grin at that. "Yes, with that attitude, I'm sure."

Olivia bites her bottom lip and draws a breath, is about to say something, but she's suddenly interrupted when someone appears at her side, someone Alaric recognizes to be one of his students as well, but can't bring himself to remember his name.

"Olivia, you have to come!" The boy's leaning on his knees and looks breathless. "Carla's having some kind of a mental breakdown and she needs you."

The boy wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and only just now seems to notice that Alaric's even there. "Oh, evening, Mr. Saltzman."

Alaric smiles politely to the boy and half anticipates him to ask why he's sharing a table with Olivia, but he doesn't seem to pay any attention to that, which Alaric is rather grateful about. Olivia looks at her friend and then back at Alaric as if trying to ponder her options, but eventually the loyalty for a friend seems to get the upper hand. She sighs and shoots the last, glimmering look towards Alaric. "Well, it seems that I have to go, but it was nice to have a chat."

"Indeed it was," Alaric says and raises his glass. "I'm expecting to see you at my classes tomorrow, Miss Bates," he then adds meaningfully and glances at the girl's half-empty glass.

Olivia gets up and winces a little (the shoes, Alaric presumes), but doesn't falter in her steps. She walks past him and brushes his shoulder in the process - a feather-light touch, and Alaric can smell a trace of vanilla in the air between them. She bends over to him just a little, to murmur "_I wouldn't miss them for the world_," and with that she's gone, even though Alric can still hear the click-clack of her heels against the floor, fading away into the noise of the Grill.

Alaric exhales deeply and gulps down the rest of his drink, feeling oddly relieved. In the back of his head there is a voice that clearly tells him not to take another drink, but he just sort of waves it away when another, more determined, voice asks in turn; _if you, out of all people, don't deserve another drink, then who the hell does?_

And so, he strides to the counter and orders a large scotch on the rocks this time, after deciding that continuing a perfectly fine liquid with soda is pretending anyway. He knows that what he said to Olivia is true, though. It wouldn't be the first (and probably not the last) time he has teached with a hangover, but he knows that tomorrow is not going to be one of those days. Alaric knows why, too - he feels exceptionally old and tired, and people who are old and tired don't do much while having a hangover.

He goes back to his table, finding the rattle of the ice cubes oddly comforting. Alaric knows he shouldn't be seeking solace in alcohol, but he reckons that at the end of the day it's by far a better option than banging his students.

He has barely sat there for two minutes, when he feels that he's being watched. He thinks it's Olivia, staring at him from the other side of the bar, so he doesn't look, just pretends to be concentrating on the newspaper. But after a while the stare takes an odd edge - Alaric can't quite specify it, but it makes his blood run cold. He lifts his head, can't help it, and sees nothing but a group of teenagers chatting to each other, and immidiately knows: it's him. _Again_. Alaric quietly curses under his breath and doesn't even have a chance to finish his thought about leaving, because in the next moment there's Damon, sitting opposite of him, all sharp angles and piercing eyes, smelling of iron and leather and cigarette smoke.

"My oh my. You had quite a predicament there, didn't you, Ricky boy," Damon smiles crookedly. "Soon you would've started to feel funny in your pants, and then what? You would've had a hard time trying to explain _that_ to the poor girl."

"Damon, what are you doing here?" Alaric asks wearily. He really wasn't looking forward to this encounter, today least of all days.

Ever since Isobel's ring brought him back to life, he's had an odd, indefinite feeling, and even though he can't imagine why, he thinks it has something to do with Damon. The man _killed _him, of course, which is more than likely to cause all sorts of mental mishaps, but Alaric feels there's something else to it, too; something's a bit... out of place, oddly dislocated, but it feels like trying to look at something that doesn't exist. Many people have called Alaric smart over the years, but what he's been thinking is that apparently he's not that smart after all.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Damon sniffs the drink that Olivia left behind, wrinkles his nose and reaches for Alaric's glass instead. He has gulped down half of its contents before Alaric can stop him. "I'm just having a drink with a friend."

Alaric angrily snatches his glass back from him, and some of the golden liquid spills on the table. "Really, Damon? We're not friends and I don't want to have a drink with you. I want you to stay away from me."

"So," Damon says in a conversational tone, ignoring his words. "I'm impressed. Olivia," he spcifies when Alaric looks puzzled. "Quite a catch. Why didn't you fuck her?"

Alaric almost chokes on his tongue. "What?"

Damon shrugs. "A simple question. A glorious girl wanted to fuck you, you wanted to fuck her back. Why didn't you?"

"I didn't want to fuck her," Alaric lies, wanting nothing more than to get out of this ludicrous conversation.

Damon just chuckles at that.

"Oh, please. I could hear the rush of your blood to the other side of the building. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't going to your head."

Alaric frowns, only just now asking himself how Damon even knows Olivia's name.

"Wait a minute. How long have you been watching me?"

"Long enough to know that she was begging for it." His smirk speaks languages. "Only a madman wouldn't have taken the opportunity."

Alaric feels like he's ready to have a migraine attack. Damon's mere presence seems to burn all the oxygen from the air.

"I can't go around having sex with my students, Damon," he says through gritted teeth. "Surely even you can understand that."

"Not really, no. But then, I guess you've always been a man of... hmm... morals."

Alaric rolls his eyes. "You know, you think you know an awful lot about human nature for someone who isn't really human."

Damon smiles in a way that reminds Alaric of reptiles. It makes him shudder marginally - it's hardly discernible, but it catches Damon's eye nonetheless. He just eyes the other man quietly for a moment, still smiling that poignant, lopsided smile of his and finally says stretchingly; "Oh well. Your nobleness just means more fun for me. Since you're not going to, you don't mind if I'll have a go, do you?"

"Stay the hell away from my students," Alaric says sharply and takes a drink. He's pretty sure Damon doesn't feed on innocent people anymore, as in not right now anyway, but then again, it's Damon they're talking about, so he can't _really_ be sure of anything. And even if Damon's actions didn't involve biting, they would involve hell of a lot of everything else, and that is just as bad, if not worse.

"Or what?" Damon asks, his voice mostly tantalizing, but Alaric can hear a certain undertone that has no other reason to be there than to push his buttons. He knows he shouldn't react, knows that's exactly what Damon wants him to do, but he can't help it.

"Or I will drive a stake through your chest, allies or not."

"Oh, touchy touchy." A raised eyebrow, and Damon leans forward in the manner of a conspirator, narrowed eyes bright and keen as two blue diamonds. Lowly he says; "In case it has somehow managed to slip your mind, Rick... the last time you tried that, it didn't end all that well for you."

Suddenly Alaric is _very_ tired of having this conversation. He leans in closer too, their faces only a few inches apart, and Alaric thinks it's way too close, but can't bring himself to care.

"Well, I've had a lot of practice since then, as you know. Perhaps I'll have better luck the next time around."

He can hear Damon's breathing, can feel it on his lips, and suddenly the air between them is heavy and charged; and regardless of what he just said, Alaric knows that Damon could kill him in a blink of an eye if he wanted to. The vampire tilts his head, his features full of dark amusement that makes the air thick with its presence.

"Luck has nothing to do with it, dear boy," he says very quietly, and his icy gaze penetrates flesh and bones until it reaches the very core of Alaric, who is sure that Damon can not only hear, but _see_ the blood flowing through his body. "But if you think you're up for it, you're welcome to show me what you've got."

He's now so close that he's breathing words into Alaric's mouth, and Alaric can't look away, nor can he pull back, because that would mean giving in. The muscles in his arm burn in their need to punch Damon in the face, but his brain knows better than to try that.

"Are you challenging me?"

"Noo, I possibly couldn't," Damon says, and laughter seeps through his lowered voice. Suddenly Alaric realizes why Damon's head is in such an odd angle, and during one very disorienting moment he is painfully sure that the other man is going to kiss him, but he doesn't, not quite; Damon's lips brush against his ever so slightly, a ghost of a touch, just a second long. Every muscle in Alaric's body tenses under the brief touch, and he knows Damon notices it, because his lips twist into a smirk against Alaric's.

"Damon, what is thi - - ," Alaric starts, but can't get any further, because suddenly there is just cool air where Damon used to be. The vampire takes Alaric's glass before he can react, empties it with one smooth swig and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Catch ya later, Saltzman," he says as he puts the glass back down. "Better count your days until then." Alaric is still trying to decipher whether that is meant to be a threat or a promise when Damon turns and walks away, a self-satisfied swagger colouring his silent steps.

Alaric is about to yell after him, but doesn't. He doesn't know why exactly he would even do that. He sees Damon walking out of the door and keeps staring after him for a long time without even realising it himself until a loud, sudden blare of music makes him flinch, and he turns his head away, frowning. Automatically he brings his glass to his lips, only to remember that it was emptied a moment ago. He stands up, still frowning, and gets himself a new one.

Alaric stays at the Grill well past the midnight, and the longer he stays, the more confused he becomes. At some point he notices that the promise about staying sober he made earlier that evening didn't hold after all.

The next day, Alaric teaches with a hangover.


End file.
